


Swear I was Born Right in This Doorway

by TurnandTurn713



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, Future Fic, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurnandTurn713/pseuds/TurnandTurn713
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wind was blowing in from the prairie grass; dry and slightly damp, the day that she came home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swear I was Born Right in This Doorway

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to First Day of My Life by Bright Eyes and decided that I should write a happy fix it fic for The Truth Hurts. 
> 
> Also Really REALLY un-beta-ed, as in I just wrote this, and now I'm posting it un-beta-ed. This means I'll probably edit it or make my partner edit it in the future. When that happens I'll take this lovely little warning down. So yeah, you've been warned.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue. 
> 
> Feedback is always welcome and appreciated!
> 
> Also here are the lyrics to the song (that is NOT MINE) that inspired this cotton candy fest.
> 
>  
> 
> This is the first day of my life  
> Swear I was born right in the doorway  
> I went out in the rain suddenly everything changed  
> They're spreading blankets on the beach
> 
> Yours is the first face that I saw  
> I think I was blind before I met you  
> Now I don't know where I am  
> I don't know where I've been  
> But I know where I want to go
> 
> And so I thought I'd let you know  
> That these things take forever  
> I especially am slow  
> But I realize that I need you  
> And I wondered if I could come home
> 
> Remember the time you drove all night  
> Just to meet me in the morning  
> And I thought it was strange you said everything changed  
> You felt as if you'd just woke up  
> And you said "this is the first day of my life  
> I'm glad I didn't die before I met you  
> But now I don't care I could go anywhere with you  
> And I'd probably be happy"
> 
> So if you want to be with me  
> With these things there's no telling  
> We just have to wait and see  
> But I'd rather be working for a paycheck  
> Than waiting to win the lottery  
> Besides maybe this time is different  
> I mean I really think you like me

The wind was blowing in from the prairie grass; dry and slightly damp the day she came home. Light softly swayed along the wooden floor slats on the porch. Peeling paint chipped off on her fingertips as she ran them along the doorframe. She brought the tips of her fingers then to her eyes, daring them to disappear, to evaporate into the coming twilight. Raising her head, the entry remained closed. She hadn’t knocked. The taste of copper and salt slid down her throat as she swallowed. Her eyelashes brushed the tops of her cheeks as she inhaled the rare air around this place. Around the possibility of a home. Not a building, a person, as she had come to find. The dark had scattered into the corners of a bedroom miles and miles from where she now stood when the shrill of technology had woken her from her sleep. 

A shaking hand moved, almost of it’s own spirit to rest against the door in front of her. A pale forehead followed the same path and now Helena found the whole of her body weight resting against the grainy wood. Swallowing again, she realized the taste was now nearly entirely salty. Opening her eyes, she saw only the wooden porch slats, with what could have been hundreds of tiny dark circles marring it’s otherwise mono-colored surface, tears, she realized, tears finally free.

“Helena”  
The author both jerked up, and seemed to collapse further into herself upon the sound of her name. The sound of her name from those lips. If she’d been more in her right mind, she would have known that the reason for her arrival was behind her. She would have felt the wind shift, would have picked up the scent she had strained to remember that was now so close to her, finally. But she was not in her right mind, perhaps she had never been. All of her choices, her gasped bargains with the universe, her pleas, always lead her back here, to this woman. She didn’t believe in fate, only in action. And oh how she tried to take action. To protect the only thing in hundreds of years that had mattered from her hands that nearly always created pain instead of healing, or peace, or quiet, or love. Instead of love. 

“Helena”

Her eyes closed again at the utterance of her name. All she wanted was there, and she had run out of the will power to deny herself any longer. Exhaling and flexing her hands against the cool wood of the door she turned around, eyes still only seeking the dark behind her eyelids.

“Helena, I’m fine, it was benign.”  
As the words washed over her ears; desperation seeped into her mind, cold and piercing.

Dry lips parted, tongue flexed, “Say it” she softly demanded, “ Say it again.”

“ It was benign,” the voice answered in a tone with slightly more warmth then before. 

Only then could the author force her eyes to open and searchingly follow the slow path from dark boots, to jean clad thighs, to a toned stomach hidden beneath a soft gray shirt, up farther then to the rise of breasts, and the bare skin of a neck. Then, to eyes, rich with pain, confusion, warmth, and determination.

The author mapped the face of the woman in front of her, traced the face with fierce eyes, and then moved a shaking hand millimeters away from a pale cheek, hovering. 

Then opened her mouth “ that’s, that’s good”. Words, which were her only other refuge save for the figure in front of her, had long since fled from her mind.

“Yes.” The woman in front of her cautiously replied, “ Yes, it is.”

Her own breathing was all that she could hear, was all she could concentrate on letting the affirmation sink in.

“Helena, I would ask you why you’re here, but I know why.”

The author nodded, knowing that unlike other aspects of her motivations, this one had always been transparent, greedy even. A warmth covered her hand, and breaking her eyes away from the face she would never have enough time to trace, she saw that the curly haired woman had grasped the hand left shaking in the air and both of her hands were now holding it, cradling it.

Drawn up from the bottom of her body, a word struggled to surface, and then burst up, draped in all the meaning and hope and aching and craving that it had always carried but never been spoken with.  
“Myka”

Daring to look back at the face she had memorized years before, she saw bewilderment turn to understanding and then joy.

Cool air flowed into and out of her lungs at the expressions crossing the features in front of her. 

“Are” a quick intake of breath. “Are you staying?”

The author shuttered, braced herself, and spoke. “I find that I have rather run out of reasons to be anywhere else.” 

Nothing, the woman in front of her was doing nothing. Had not changed, had not moved, had not allowed her face to shift any further. The author opened her mouth to speak again. “ Myka, I” 

“Shut the fuck up Helena.” Startled at the words the raven-haired woman braced herself “ I have seen Claudia defeat a madman, and kill her long lost sister in the process. I have seen Pete cry, and Artie stare into space for hours. I have seen Mrs. Fredrick’s waste away, then reform in front of my eyes. I have thought I was dying and then I have woken up to hear that life had granted me a second chance. So shut the fuck up Helena.”

Lips met hers wet and hard, as a cold wind blew through the spaces that their bodies had not yet melted into. Desperation and joy and sadness and light, so much light swirled around her chest and the shaking author dared to respond. Pulling the woman locked to her lips closer still. Helena opened her mouth finally allowing herself to respond with all of the need and hope for the future that she had spent so long tamping down inside of herself. Teeth bit into her bottom lip, wet warmth followed soothing the pressure, and the author smirked. She always knew Myka had an aggressive streak, and long had she wondered how ,if ever they were to meet in love, how it would play out. 

Giving herself fully over to the sliding of lips Helena noticed that sighs of pleasure and soft hums of contentment and satisfaction were echoing from each of them into the other’s soft mouth. The lips on hers finally retreated and a warm forehead rested against her own. Registering the sparking contact of the firm skin overlaying the curly haired woman’s hipbone against her own hand forced another short gasp from the author’s lips and she tracked her eyes back and forth across the face now so close trying to understand the meaning, the dreamed up but never suspected possibility of happiness that could be an actual option.

“Myka, I” The raven-haired author again tried to speak.

“Helena, every time you say something it ends badly. You think you have to power to restore the world to peace simply because you know how to create war. Stop it. You want to stay, so you’re going to finally finally stay, here, with me. You want me, so you finally get to have me, because you can’t control the world, and we both deserve to be happy. You want to be useful and be lauded for your brilliance, so fix the side of the warehouse that Claudia broke during her fight. Help Artie figure out how to streamline the ping system or something else complicated and important. You want to have Christina back, then learn to let her go, and live your life and find the joy that you had with her in all the world around you. So Helena, shut the fuck up and come inside, because your room is still here and you can turn it into an office, and live in mine so when you wake up from your nightmares I’ll already be right beside you.” 

Blinking slowly, the author was both terrified by the words and the potential that they carried and reeling from the ecstasy that they sparked within her very soul. Curls whipped past her face as a Myka grinned at her and pulled her through the now open door that had a red-faced but widely grinning Claudia and Pete on the other side. Her sentence could wait. After all, it seemed Myka liked thinking she knew what Helena was going to say. But the author had transformed somewhere between the phone call that shattered her world and trembling alone on the bed and breakfast’s porch. The time for hiding away and hoping for a glimpse of the sun had past, and Helena had been prepared to stand in the desert for a chance of rain. No, Helena would finish her sentence later, after all, the author realized, Myka had always loved her writing, and the three words she was planning on penning at her next opportunity might just be Myka’s favorite yet.


End file.
